


Petrichor

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [19]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Inkling of angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: Eliot finds Quentin standing in the rain.





	Petrichor

“Q,” Eliot murmurs, leaning into the doorway, shoulder up against the hard wood. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

Quentin looks over his shoulder at him, shrugging with a soft smile. “I love the rain,” he whispers, the sound barely making it to Eliot over the rushing water. He turns his gaze back on the backyard, watching the rain fade into the ground.

Eliot smiles with a shake of his head and steps into the rain with him. He takes a few steps until he can stop next to Quentin, and nods, “It  _is_  the best weather,” he agrees, “Something peaceful about it. I mean,” he tilts his head, eyeing Quentin out of the corner of his eye, “If you don’t mind a bad hair day.”

Quentin looks down, cheeks crinkling. The rain runs down them like river beds. When he looks back up, he takes a deep breath and turns his smile on Eliot. “It’s kind of a reset. Everything gets to start over.” He shrugs and looks up at the sky, eyes sliding closed as water rushes over his face.

“Yeah.” Eliot watches him until he opens his eyes and reaches up to wipe at his face. It’s a futile fight, but Quentin doesn’t seem to mind as he turns his attention back on Eliot with droplets clinging to his eyelashes.

“And the smell. I don’t know what it is, but the smell of rain –”

“Petrichor,” Eliot nods, leaning over to pull one of the patios chairs closer. “The smell,” he explains as Quentin furrows his eyebrows, “it’s called petrichor. It’s not the rain that causes it, it’s the plants.”

As Eliot pulls over a second chair and Quentin sits down, Quentin asks, “How’d you know that?”

Eliot chuckles, placing the chair next to Quentins and sitting down. “When I was a kid,” he huffs out a breath and looks at Quentin meaningfully, “I lived on a farm.” He pauses for a moment, waiting in case Quentin has any questions. When Quentin does ask, he continues. “In Indiana. It didn’t rain a lot, so when it did… it felt special, I guess. The skies would get all grey and dreary, and you’d know it’s going to rain because of the smell.” He nods to himself. “It was one of my favorite smells as a kid.”

Quentin reaches out and grabs his hand. His fingers are already wrinkled, but Eliot turns his palm upwards so he can hold onto Quentins pruney fingers. “I didn’t know –”

“Of course not,” Eliot tilts his shoulder, “I didn’t tell you.” He looks down at his lap, where the rains soaked through his pants. “Something about the rain makes you feel safe. Even if there’s thunder and lightning and screaming wind …”

“It’s like it’s all there to remind you that you’ll be okay. Even if in the moment you’re not.”

He looks up again and nods. “Yeah.”

Quentin squeezes his hand and turns his gaze back on the backyard. The rains slowing to a softer drizzle now, but it doesn’t matter. “I used to think thunderstorms were magic.” He shakes his head with a self conscious laugh. “Knowing what I know now I know that’s ridiculous –”

“No.” Quentin frowns, turning to look at him again. “They’re their own kind of magic. And if you tell anyone I said this, I will murder you — but.” He licks his lips and looks down at the patio. “It’s mental magic. A temporary fix to whatever ails your mind. Rain is magic. For some people, at least.”

“Whenever I feel myself slipping,” Quentin says after a few long moments, voice soft, “I imagine traveling to Fillory. I imagine the skies there are grey, and the grass and foliage beneath my feet is … waiting. And I imagine looking up at the sky, and feeling the first rain drop just fall and hit me on the nose. And — and then it’s pouring, and I’m running through the woods with my arms outstretched.” Eliot looks up at him, and Quentin squeezes his hand again, rolling his lips with a soft nod. “That’s what I imagine when I think of being happy.”

“As much as I hate that god forsaken farm,” Eliot says, looking down at their hands. “I still,” He pauses for a moment, chewing on his lips as his eyes dart between their hands and Quentin’s face, “think about. Hiding out in the barn during the really bad storms. I’d sit in this far off corner, where the wood was — god, this barn was  _dilapidated_ , Q. Nobody was allowed in there.” He chuckles to himself with a shake of his head, “But I’d go sit in the far corner. And the smell of the rain, and of old wood, and the sound of the rain and wind and wayward branches crashing against the barn … it was the safest I ever felt as a kid. In the most dangerous place I could’ve been on the farm. Well.” He shrugs a shoulder, running his thumb over the top of Quentin’s hand, “Aside from anywhere my dad was.”

Quentin’s breath hitches. “El —“

“It’s fine, Q.”

“It’s  _not_.”

Eliot nods. “It’s not. But I’ve moved on.”

“You shouldn’t have to —“

“Weren’t we talking about the rain?”

Quentin’s jaw ticks for a moment before he nods slowly, and scoots his chair closer to Eliot’s. “Yeah,” He mutters. “But it’s over.”

Eliot shakes his head, using their hands to pull Quentin in closer to lean against him. “No, it’s not,” He says, nodding up towards the sky. “We still have the rainbow to look forward to.”

Quentin watches him with furrowed eyebrows before nodding with a sigh and leaning his head against Eliot’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“And Q?”

“I know. If I tell anyone I’m as good as dead.”

“No. Well — yeah. But no.” Eliot shakes his head softly. “I just wanted to say if you ever feel yourself slipping and it’s not raining. I know a spell. That can replicate the smell of rain. If you need it.”  

He feels Quentin’s cheeks push up against his shoulder as he smiles. “Thanks, El.”

“Of course.”


End file.
